


Co-pilot Material

by shadowmaat



Series: A Bounty of Brothers [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Space Stations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-06 21:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17353325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/pseuds/shadowmaat
Summary: This can be read as a stand-alone, though characters here have and will be crossing paths with Surge Squad.Trix Hunter is a small-time cargo hauler with a penchant for causing trouble- or helping others get out of it. When she winds up needing repairs on a remote station she meets a mysterious mechanic and they just might wind up being the answer to each other's problem.





	1. Chapter 1

Pagodin Station was on the back end of nowhere. In fact, Trix had never even heard of it, which was one of the reasons she decided to take the commission. 

It came about thanks to one of those whims she sometimes suspected were sent by The Trickster, Himself. She’d just finished offloading several tons worth of  _ Podracing II: Plasmatic Boogaloo, _ a failed hologame that the company was paying her handsomely to dispose of in the deepest pit she could find. While she was trying to figure out which “pit” to pay to take it all off her hands, she overheard a captain with a nasally core worlds accent yelling at the dockmaster about how important he was, how important his cargo was, and what crimes the dockmaster would be charged with if he didn’t clear the paperwork immediately for his Very Important Client.

Yelling was always a good way to get her attention. So was being a jackass. She edged closer to see what more she could learn and found out that Captain Fancypants worked for the Aleesian Ag Conglomerate, which was known to be deep in the pockets of the Hutt Cartel. Captain Fancypants grabbed a holopad from the dockmaster and flung it away, almost hitting her. What else was she going to do? She picked it up and scanned the details. Fancypants was planning to load up on “surplus produce” for transport to a hutt-owned storage facility. Tons and tons of food that would either go to waste or simply be wasted on a greedy hutt.

The containers, sitting close on the dock to her own, actually looked very similar to the ones full of hologames. Grinning, she started typing information into the holopad, glad that Fancypants, whose real name was Magger Thrip, was lazy enough to have all his passwords and other details autofilled. Trix wasn’t very good at slicing, but she knew her paperwork and forms pretty well and by the time she dropped the holopad back on the ground where she’d found it and headed back to her own ship it was done deal. She gave the dockmaster a sympathetic look as Thrip questioned his parentage and headed back to her ship to let bureaucracy do its job.

The best part was, from a paperwork angle it would look like it was all Thrip’s fault. He was the one who signed off on his cargo’s release to a waste station (to be billed directly to his employers) and he was the one currently harassing the dockbots to load up “his” cargo, which was technically her load of hologames. Meanwhile, she told the overworked dockmaster that she’d changed her mind and would dispose of her cargo elsewhere, so he had it loaded back onto her ship. Except, of course, what really got loaded were very valuable fruits, grains, and vegetables. She gave him a nice tip, too, for all his troubles.

Oh sure, if the hutts bothered to believe Thrip and investigated they might trace things back to her, but she’d gone with a silly ship name for her silly cargo, so the trail wouldn’t get them very far. Oh, she could come up with contingencies if she had to, but something told her that Thrip’s bosses would be eager to dump everything on his shoulders, so she- and the hapless dockmaster- should be fine.

While she waited for the new “old” cargo to be loaded, she skimmed through the listings for people in need of consumables and checked off a few of the less-likely-to-be-filled ones, including Pagodin Station.

The trip out was lovely and she got to see some nice worlds who were very grateful for her help. She got paid well, did some sightseeing, bought trinkets she didn’t need and filled a few holes in her emptying hold with goods that could be traded later.

By the time she got to Pagodin Station, she was ready for a good break, but the “break” she had in mind hadn’t included issues with her life support system. Nothing catastrophic, but definitely annoying, and life support was one of the systems she didn’t dare to mess with on her own. Luckily her contact at Pagodin, a Rodian chef at a place called Pag’s Payback, was more than happy to offer her some names of mechanics who might help. One of them caught her attention.

“Whisper?”

The Rodian, Kelbis, nodded. 

“We call him that because he doesn’t talk much, and never above a whisper.” His antennae twitched. “He stays covered up, too. Probably on the run from something, but he’s a kriffin’ miracle-worker and never causes any trouble.” He waved at the deep fryer behind him. “Not only did he fix that up for me, but he got it running more efficiently than it has since I bought the place.”

“Whisper. Huh. I like the sound of him already.” She smiled. “So how does one go about contacting him?”

“Oh, he usually stops by here after closing for leftovers. And, uh, I may make the wrong order once in awhile just to make sure he stays fed.” His green skin darkened.

Trix traced the Trickster’s symbol on the cutting table of the tiny kitchen with a finger and hoped He would give Kelbis the right kind of luck.

“I knew there was a reason I came all the way out here.” She patted his hand, making him blush harder. “Guess I’ll settle in to the bar for the evening and wait, if that’s okay?”

“Of course! Of course! I’ll let you know when I see him.”

Technically she didn’t  _ have _ to spend the whole night in the bar, but there wasn’t a lot else to do- at least by her standards- and at least she knew the food would be good. She got a table in the back and people-watched, ordering the occasional drink and working on a platter of nachews. The place stayed pretty well populated until well into the late shift, though whether it was because word got out that Kelbis got a shipment in from Mid Rim or just because his cooking was always that good, she didn’t know. A few of the more adventurous patrons tried their luck with her, but most of them were polite about taking “no” for an answer and the one who didn’t wound up with a flaming drink “accidentally” spilled on him by a waitress with a freckle pattern that looked just like Kelbis’s. She winked at Trix and went to get a mop as the burnt suitor made a hasty exit.

Kelbis let her stay after the doors were locked for the evening and she was introduced to his sister, Nardi, the waitress. They traded gossip until Kelbis heard a tap at the door and went to open it.

“Whisper! Come in! There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

The hooded figure that entered the bar was taller than Trix and beyond that it was hard to tell anything. He was swaddled in layers that left not a single inch of skin exposed. His eyes were hidden behind goggles coated in something reflective. Mirrored circles looked at her and waved.

“Heya,” Trix said. “I hear you might know how to fix my life support system? It’s a Gax MW-1121, if that helps.”

Whisper looked over at Kelbis, who leaned closer, nodding at whatever was said.

“How much are you paying?”

She wasn’t sure what repair costs were like around Pagodin and said so, but named off a figure that would have been considered on the skimpy side of decent closer to the core.

Kelbis’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “That’s too-”

Whisper tugged on his arm and he leaned in again, frowning.

“He says he’ll take a look, but not until tomorrow.” Kelbis seemed unhappy about something.

Trix shrugged, hoping she hadn’t undercut the pricing too much. “That’s fine, it isn’t an emergency. Yet. And I can provide meals, too, if it takes a while.” She waved a hand. “Though I’m probably not as good as Chef Kelbis here.”

The two disappeared into the kitchen and Trix turned to Nardi.

“Was the offer too low? I’m used to haggling, so I figured-”

“For most of the so-called repair firms around here? Yeah, it’s low.” The Rodian’s antennae dipped. “For Whisper, though, it’ll be a small fortune.” Her starry eyes blazed. “Not that my brother is trying to shortchange him! He’d pay more if he could! But there are certain factions…”

Trix sighed. Same old story. “Well, I’m not from here and I’m not staying here, so kriff that.”

Nardi sighed, too, and glanced toward the kitchen door.

“My brother thinks he’s hiding from something, but if you ask me I’d guess he might have been in an accident that left him disfigured. Might also explain why he doesn’t talk above a whisper. He doesn’t even like people watching him  _ eat.” _

Trix nodded. Whatever Whisper was and why he was here was a mystery, but as long as he could help her, she’d be grateful. And maybe she could do a little more to help him, as long as she didn’t push too hard. She said goodbye to Nardi and headed back to her ship. Kelbis already knew where she was docked, so he’d be able to pass it on to Whisper, and she needed to do a little tidying up before morning so Whisper wouldn’t kill himself before he could even start.

Morning came far too early for Trix’s taste and with it came a knock at her hatch. She checked the cams to see a familiar cloaked figure huddled on her ramp. She unlocked the hatch and hit the comm button.

“C’mon in. There’s-” She broke off, yawning. “There’s caf and donuts from some little stand down the way.”

Whisper seemed to have no trouble finding his way to the galley and nodded thanks as he set about getting a cup of caf and snagging several donuts.

“I see you brought your own tools,” she said, rubbing her eyes and cussing inwardly as she realized she’d forgotten to put on her eyepatch. Ah well. One secret out. “I have more set up by the-” Another yawn. “By the controls if you need ‘em. You need me to show you around?”

A small shrug and a waved hand.

“Ehh, I’ll show you around anyway. Not a problem. This is the galley, by the way.”

The mirrored lenses of Whisper’s goggles contrived to give her a flat look. She grinned.

“Gotta start somewhere, right?”

Once they were done with breakfast, Trix showed him around the rest of the ship.

“My room, the co-pilot’s room- not that I have one- and a couple of rooms I use for storage. I also have some modular set-ups to make more rooms if I’m transporting more people.”

She generally didn’t like the hassle of transporting people, but the modular units came in handy when she was helping Issa and her squad of baby-faced troopers. 

“The ‘fresher, laundry, rathtar containment, medunit…” She could feel herself being glared at and glanced back at Whisper. “What?”

He jabbed a gloved hand at the “rathtar containment” door.

“Oh, fine.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’m a little short on rathtars at the moment. Until then, it provides access to some of the pipework.”

Whisper huffed and they continued, winding up at the access panel for the environmental systems.

“If you need anything, bang on a wall. Oh, and here.” She handed over a holopad. “This has the repair records for the ship and all the parts numbers and whatever. You can also use it to send messages to me if that’s easier.”

Whisper stared down at the holopad for a long moment before hugging it to his chest. Shiny eyes stared up at her.

“What? I mean it’ll help, right?”

A small, jerky nod.

“So there ya go. Just don’t hijack my ship out from under me and we’ll be fine.” She turned to head back to the galley. “Oh, and lunch is at noon local time. I’m making spiced carrot soup, though if you have any dietary restrictions, message ‘em to me. Good luck!”

Her boots were loud against the floor, but not loud enough to cover the tiny sniffle behind her. She clenched her hands and kept walking.

While Whisper worked on the life support systems, Trix checked for jobs and made arrangements to fill the last bits of space in her cargo hold. She also worked on preparing lunch, since Whisper messaged her to say carrot soup would be appreciated and that he wasn’t aware of having any allergies. She wound up talking to him quite a bit- after reassuring him that he didn’t have to answer to everything she said. She told him a bit about the ship and how she’d acquired it. She talked about her job and some of the messes she’d gotten into (and out of again). She shared some observations about Pagodin Station and talked about some of the other stations and ports she’d visited. 

At lunch, Whisper showed up in the galley and seated himself at the small table. Trix ladled soup into his bowl and gave him a couple of rehydrated rolls that were only slightly past their “best by” date. The bottles of fizzy-pop weren’t quite as healthy, but at least they were cold and wet.

“I heard you aren’t comfortable with people watching you eat, so if you want me to leave or to fix you up a tray…”

She could feel herself being scrutinized again and had an annoying itch somewhere in her mind. Whisper shook his head.

“No? You sure?”

In answer Whisper peeled up the bottom part of the mask covering his face. It only revealed the lower part of his jaw and mouth, but it was striking. Trix sat down and tried not to stare as Whisper ate.

His skin seemed to be a muted ochre color, but his lips were a rich brown. Jagged lines of brown also led down from the corners of his mouth and pushed up from his chin like a tiny upside-down anchor. The underside of his jaw was also a solid brown with ochre diamonds to either side. Marks disappearing into the mask implied there was a lot more she wasn’t seeing. She sipped her soup.

“The work seems to be going well so far. Some of the readings are already improving.”

Whisper nodded.

“At this rate, you’ll be done before I can serve dinner.” She waggled her spoon in the air. “Which, okay, is probably going to be noodles and nuggets from the place next to the donut place, but still.”

Whisper was chewing one of his rolls, but she could sense she had his attention.

“Or, y’know, if it did wind up taking longer I have that co-pilot’s quarters that’s going to waste. You could always use that.”

The chewing slowed. Her mind felt itchy again and she missed Issa. She wasn’t a bad sort for a Jedi. She was generally pretty good with words, too.

“Anyway, just saying.” Trix broke her roll in half and dipped part of it in her soup. “Did I ever tell you about the time I transported a bunch of funny-looking little chickens only for them to grow up into giant fire-breathing murderbirds?”

The afternoon saw progress on the repairs slowing down. Trix wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but as the hour grew later she got Whisper’s noodle preference and went out to bring back dinner. 

She renewed her offer of a place to sleep as she dished up seconds to Whisper, and after a pause he nodded.

“Great! If you’re interested there’s a trunk of clothes in the closet. You’re welcome to help yourself to any of it, though I can’t guarantee anything will be close to your size.” 

Whisper put his fork down and stared at her.

“What?” She asked, worried she’d done something wrong.

“Why?”

It was a harsh whisper. It was also the first time she’d heard him speak. She stared at him, taking in the way his exposed lower jaw trembled just a little bit.

“Why what? I mean, you don’t have to take any clothes if you don’t want to, I just thought-”

“This!” It was more hiss than word. Whisper jabbed his hand at, well, everything. “The pay! The food! A bed and clothes! Why? What do you want from me?”

He was worked up enough that some of his words squeaked. Trix put her roll down.

“What I want is a life support system that isn’t going to konk out on me in hyperspace and leave me breathing vacuum. The rest is just how I was raised, sort of.” It was too complicated to explain now, especially when Whisper was distraught. 

“I also have issues with seeing people mistreated,” she said. “And this is a shitty place to get stuck no matter what your story is, so, well…” She’d planned to work this part out later so she’d know what to say. “Well, if you can get the system fixed up and happen to need a ride-”

Whisper banged a fist on the table, startling her.

“What. Do you want. From me?”

“I really could use a good mechanic,” she said. “I can do spot repairs and I’m pretty good with the main engines, but if you’re any good with the other systems that’d be useful and-” she hesitated as dozens of answers presented themselves. “A job. I’m offering you a job.”

The lower half of Whisper’s face was frowning even more than the markings made it seem.

“You wouldn’t owe me any answers or explanations,” she continued. “Only what you’re willing to share. But yeah, the pay wouldn’t be great and I’d need you to help with cargo stuff, too, but-”

“How do you know you can trust me? I might be a monster.”

There were definitely hints of a voice in that whisper now. Trix scoffed.

“Are you planning to kill me?”

“No,” Whisper said.

“Are you planning hurt me? Or the people on the station? Do you want to perform unnatural experiments on living organisms? Or wage a campaign of terror across the universe, destroying all who oppose you? Are you going to call up any dead gods from a neighboring reality or burn worlds to cinders?”

The goggles stared at her.

“As long as the answer to those questions is no, you’re welcome here.”

Whisper huffed, shoving his chair back from the table and stalking out of the room.

Trix released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and finished her dinner. She didn’t bother Whisper again, but could hear him continuing work on the faulty system well into the night.

She spent breakfast alone, but could see evidence that Whisper had already come and gone. Maybe he was trying to make up for lost time so he could get out of her ship faster. That was fine, too, though she wished she was more equipped to handle people delicately rather than with her usual bluntness.

While Whisper worked she headed out, finishing up a few last tasks and checking in with Kelbis to let him know things were going well. Which was true, from a strictly-working standpoint. She also took on a few more “just in case” supplies, but made a mental note to maybe do her replenishing closer to the Core since prices in general on Pagodin were a little excessive. When one was out in the middle of nowhere, it was possible to charge any price you wanted, knowing you had a captive audience.

Back on the ship she was surprised to smell food and found lunch waiting for her in the galley.

“Just leftovers,” Whisper announced, voice once again soft.

“Hey, that’s fine, thanks.” 

Small talk, at least, was something she could manage. Filling the air with meaningless words was easy. She was midway through a story about the tooka cafe in Coruscant that she liked when Whisper interrupted.

“I’ll stay.”

Trix paused. “You sure? I don't wanna push-”

“Yes. But I need to get a few things. Say goodbyes first.”

“That's fine. Repairs done, then?”

Whisper nodded. “Streamlined. Easier.”

“Great!” Trix smiled. “I'll file a flight plan and hold tight.”

Another nod and then Whisper got up and left. Trix waited to make sure he was gone, then pumped her fist. Success! She could almost hear Issa lecturing her about the danger of accepting strangers on her ship, but she had a really good feeling about this.

Oh sure, Whisper was definitely hiding something, but so was she. She didn't think either of their secrets would endanger the other. Heck, they might even be good for each other. Assuming Whisper stuck around and didn't bail for better options at the next port. At least he wouldn't be stuck on Pagodin.

The afternoon passed quickly. Trix made one last stop to pick up more donuts and met Whisper on the ramp heading into the ship.

“All set?”

He nodded, letting her enter the ship first.

Getting clearance to leave was easy; there were only two other outgoing ships and they were on the other side of the station. Trix set the controls, took a deep breath of recycled ship air that was totally working and not asphyxiating her at all, and leaned back in her chair. Another mission done, complete with bonuses both expected and unexpected. Not too shabby for being in the middle of nowhere.

There was a tap on the door and she swiveled around, the cheery greeting she intended forgotten as she took in the figure hunched in the cockpit entrance.

Gone was the hooded cloak, the voluminous wrappings, the mask and the goggles. In its place stood a tall, slender zabrak in a baggy shirt and trousers. The ochre coloration and zig-zagging brown patterns seemed to extend all over, from what she could see of Whisper’s arms, neck, and feet. Hard brown eyes watched her, radiating wariness.

In addition to all the other surprises, Trix could see the slight swell of breasts under the shirt, which just went to underscore the tricky nature of assumptions.

“So,” she said, finding her voice again. “Does this mean I should switch pronouns?”

Her new zabrak crewmate shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter,” she- they?- said in a strong, accented voice. “I’m used to ‘he’.” 

“Call you anything but late to dinner. Gotcha.” Trix smiled, trying to exude reassurance.

“Praz,” they said. “I was called Praz… before.”

“Praz it is, then.” She gestured to the co-pilot’s seat. “Feel free to settle in. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us, but I have a feeling it’s gonna be interesting.”

Praz’s shoulders relaxed and they entered the cockpit, dipping their head slightly as they took their seat.

“You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Trix laughed. “I’m delighted! Managing to fool everyone and keep yourself safe? Sounds like we’re gonna get along great!” 

She held out her hand and after a brief hesitation, Praz shook it.

“Welcome aboard, Praz! And here’s to many adventures yet to come.”

The small smile and the tingling sense of victory in the air made the whole trip worth it. More than worth it. Trix beamed. Life was just  _ full _ of surprises.


	2. Praz's Story

Praz was most comfortable in the room Trix had given them. It was hard to think of it as  _ theirs _ because owning things, having a place they belonged, wasn’t something they’d experienced very often. Not since childhood. Not since before they’d been discovered and forced to flee Dathomir. But even then, their life had been fraught with secrecy and impermanence. Their mother had always warned them that people would never understand them. That they’d see them as wrong and want to destroy them for it.

She’d been right, too.

The sound to Trix’s soft singing wafted on the air along with the smells of cooking meat. It was enough to lure them out of safety and into the rest of the ship. They tugged on the sleeves of the robe Trix had given them. It was a little short for them, but it was well-worn and warm and had a hood that hid both horns and face, so they liked it. Their old gloves kept their hands hidden, as did their boots and a pair of pants also gifted by Trix.

Praz still wasn’t sure what to make of the strange cargo pilot who’d blown into their life and changed so much. She kept giving and didn’t seem to expect- or want- anything in return. They still expected there to be a-- well,  _ trick _ in the end, but for now they were willing to go along with it and see what happened.

_ “Neeja koona lokhba uba, _ _   
_ _ “Neeja koona calleya uba… _

“Oh, heya, Praz! Getting hungry?” 

Praz avoided Trix’s smile as she sidled into the kitchen.

“I thought I’d see-” They stopped and tried again without whispering. “I thought I’d see if you need anything else done.” 

“Nah, ship seems to be running pretty great, thanks to you.” She swayed back in forth in front of the heating element, keeping time with the song coming from her holopad. “Lunch should be ready soon. I’m trying these meat-filled pastry things I found on the holonet. Do you like it spicy or not?”

Praz shrugged. They were happy to eat anything they were given, though they did like the way their mouth tingled when something was spicy.

“I’ll make some of each then.” She grabbed a small jar labeled  _ tiingilar powder. _ “If my boyfriends come back, I’m gonna make them suffer with something Mandalore-inspired.”

“Boyfriends?” Praz winced. They hadn’t meant to ask a question.

“Well, maybe not boyfriends, exactly,” Trix said, spooning half of the meat into the little folds of pastry lined up on the counter. “But they’re all sweethearts who deserve to eat well. And maybe choke on it a bit.” She added a liberal helping of the powder to the rest of the meat and promptly sneezed.

As the smell hit them, Praz’s nose tingled. It reminded them of home, and they could almost imagine their mother leaning over the cookfire. Except, of course, their mother had short white hair, not the long blue and purple ponytail Trix was currently favoring.

“There’s milk in the fridge,” Trix said. “That should help us keep from dying from whatever’s in this fire powder.” She sneezed again.

Hiding a smile, they moved to fridge and poured two glasses of milk before setting the rest of the table. It was a small task, but it made them feel good to know they were helping.

Lunch left their mouth numb, in a good way. Combined with the warmth of the ship and the comforting feel they got from Trix, it left them feeling more relaxed than they had in a long time.

“So, does Praz mean anything?” Trix asked, working on her second glass of milk. “I mean, Trix is pretty obvious, but I also picked that for myself. Is Praz something you came up with or did it come from home?”

They looked down at the smear of gravy that was all that was left on their plate. The red flecks of  _ tiingilar _ were obvious.

“Mother said it meant strong-willed,” they said. “She said I never should have been born, but the fact that I survived showed how determined I was.”

Trix put her glass down. “I’m sorry. If this is too personal…”

They shook their head. “You feel… right,” they said, unsure how to explain it. She felt like fur that could belong to a tooka or a nexu, depending on the way the wind blew. Or like a fire that could keep you from freezing or burn an entire forest.

There was still uncertainty. There was still the question of why. And what. And where now? But right here, at this time and in this place, their belly was full and they were safe from danger and so they talked.

“Praz is a boy’s name,” they said. “My mother kept my identity a secret for as long as she could, knowing we’d both be killed if anyone realized I was female.”

Anger flared bright in the air around Trix before banking back to embers. “Why the hell should that matter?” She demanded.

Praz tilted their head. “I’m from Dathomir.”

There was a flicker of recognition on her face, but no dawning comprehension. She picked up her fork and began playing with the remains of her pastry.

“I’ve heard of that place. Never been, of course, and most of the stories I’ve heard seem kinda misogynistic, I guess. Evil witches subjugating the menfolk and forcing them into slavery.” She rolled her eyes, though only one was visible. Praz hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her why she wore an eyepatch if she didn’t need it.

“That seems mostly true,” they said. “The Nightsisters are the ones who hold all the power, and many of them are strong in dark magic.” They took a breath, spreading their gloved hands on the small table. “The Nightbrothers are considered lesser beings, good only for their strength and breedability.”

“Well, that’s gross.” Trix wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. My own planet has some weird stuff going on, so I probably shouldn’t cast aspersions, but actual slavery is a bit… much for me.” She speared a piece of meat, examined its coating of red flakes, and put it back down again.

Praz nodded. “It always seemed normal to me. And dangerous. Nightsisters are supposed to have white skin and hair, though many of the witches shave their heads. Only the Nightbrothers have colors like this.” They gestured at their face, still mostly hidden in the hood. “The horns, too. And the markings. Only Nightbrothers are supposed to look like this.”

Trix opened her mouth and closed it again, frowning. “I never studied genetics beyond how to have babies and NOT have babies,” she admitted. “So that sounds a bit…” She shook her head. “Whatever. You look different and people don’t like different so you had to hide who you really were. That sucks. Sorry.”

The sympathy was hard to understand. Or hard to accept. Praz wasn’t sure what to do with it yet, so they shrugged.

“I’m guessing eventually you got caught. Is that when you and your mom escaped?”

Praz winced. They couldn’t help it. “Mother didn’t make it,” they murmured.

There was another flare from Trix, who swore under her breath.

“She taught me how to hide and she made sure I got off Dathomir, but…” Their throat closed up. 

Trix shot to her feet and came around to stand beside them.

“Would it be okay if I gave you a hug?”

“Hug?” They repeated, their voice cracking on the word. Hugs were dangerous; they made you vulnerable and it would be all too easy for someone hugging you to feel the true shape of you. But Trix already knew what they were.

They stood, somewhat uncertain, and Trix wrapped gentle arms around them. They hesitated, but then their arms moved to circle Trix’s waist. The hug tightened, with Trix pressing the side of her face into their shoulder.

“It sounds like you’ve been alone for a long time,” she said. “But you’ve got me in your corner now. For as long as you want me.”

Praz clung to her, feeling something in their chest uncoil and spread. The whole universe seemed to hum around them and for the first time in… maybe ever, they felt a sense of belonging.

Trix sniffled. “Damn spices have my eyes watering again.”

The laughter bubbled up, unexpected and uncontainable. Praz laughed, tears spilling out of their own eyes as they looked down at Trix, who was grinning back up at them.

“You okay now?” She asked, one hand still on their arm.

“I think I will be,” they said, feeling out the truth of the words.

“That’s all anyone can ask.” She flipped up her eyepatch to wipe at both eyes with the hem of her shirt. “Meantime, we’d better clean up the dishes before the leftovers spontaneously combust.”

Nodding, Praz relaxed into the simple post-lunch chores and let Trix’s idle chatter wash over them. There was still a lot they hadn’t said, but there was no rush to say it. They had a good feeling that they’d be here for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Trix is singing is in Huttese, courtesy of some very loose and creative interpretations from [The Complete Wermo's Guide.](http://www.completewermosguide.com/huttese.html)
> 
> Neeja koona lokhba uba,  
> “Neeja koona calleya uba...
> 
> Loosely translated (very loosely) it becomes:
> 
> Never gonna give you up,  
> Never gonna let you down.
> 
> Congrats, Trix just rickrolled you!


End file.
